Moldenke got off at the stop nearest Big Ernie’s and saw a tobacconist’s kiosk with a rusty Julep sign. “You’re in luck,” the tobacconist said. “We’ve got the cork-tipped in stock.”
“Good. You can’t get them over on the west side. I’ll have two packs.”
The tobacconist looked at Moldenke’s pass card. “Sorry, only one at a time with this kind of card. You’ll get a better card after a year.”
“Give me one pack then.”
Walking on, Moldenke sat on the steps of the Church of the Lark to have a smoke. His matches were soggy and wouldn’t light easily. He had to strike them over and over just to get a hiss and a sputter. He began eyeing passersby for ones likely to have a match and chose a thin, anxious man he saw smoking the stub of a hand-made cigar.
Moldenke took a few steps toward the man. “Pardon me. Do you have a light?”
The man shivered a little, puffed on his cigar, and came toward Moldenke with a lit match. “Here you go.” Moldenke could now see the other side of the man’s face. One cheek and the right eye were deformed. Without lids, the eyeball protruded grotesquely. Some of the healed-over flesh of the face looked yellowed and waxen.
“Thank you.” Moldenke inhaled deeply. It was the first Julep he’d had for a while.
They sat on the church steps. “I’m here on indefinite,” the man said, “for stealing a duck from the park. What about you?”
“Defacing a grave. Also indefinite. I see you’ve been squirted.”
“A little jellyhead son of a bitch in the Park.”
Moldenke turned his head. “They squirted me too. I took some on the ear, as you can see, and a little on the hand. Was he naked and wearing a fancy cap?”
“Had a hell of donnicker, too. Slapped it with his knees when he was running at me.”
“Don’t worry. I took care of that little menace, if you know what I mean—a favor for Big Ernie over at the bear claw place. That same jelly deformed his daughter.”
“I know Big Ernie. The body on that daughter is so very nice. I’d give anything to mate with her, but Big Ernie doesn’t like me.”
One of the Sisters burst out of the church with a broom and waved it wildly. “Get away from here, you bums.”
“Hey,” the man protested, “aren’t you supposed to give us comfort?”
The Sister grimaced and placed a hand on her hip. “Go on, get moving.”
Moldenke and the deformed man parted company, going separate ways amid the sidewalk crush.
The green light was on at Big Ernie’s. A line extended out the front door. Moldenke took his place behind a young free woman reading Burke’s
Treatise
. For a few minutes, as the line moved slowly forward, Moldenke looked over her shoulder and tried to read some of the text. With his weak eyesight it was impossible. “Excuse me,” he said, “why is everyone reading that book?”
Without turning all the way, she said, “It’s the only one you can get these days. They’re old, falling apart, pre-liberation.”
“Where can I get a one?”
“People throw them away. I found this one in a gutter on the west side.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
Sorrel greeted Moldenke with a frown when he reached the counter. “What happened to your ear, Moldenke? It looks awful.”
“Out on the Byway. Some jellyhead got me.”
It was then that Moldenke saw how much Sorrel’s face had improved. Much of the scarring had gone away. Her lips were fuller and a healthy red.
“You look better, Sorrel. Your face is healing. Are you treating it with something? Barrel honey maybe?”
“I’ve been bathing in the Old Reactor pool. Something in the water re-forms flesh and bone. Everybody’s doing it. You should give it a try. I’ll go with you. Come here at eight sharp tomorrow. Knock on the door. We’re closed on Sunday.”
“Very good. I’ll be here.”
“Where is that nasty little girl you had?”
“She’s in the Home. I’m rid of her.”
“Good. How many claws?”
“Give me four.” He showed his card.
“Oops, sorry, you can get only two with that kind of card.”
“Yeah, I forgot.”
As he waited for the Arden car, Moldenke ate one of the warm bear claws, which settled well in his stomach. He would save the other one and offer it to the concierge when he got back to the Tunney. It would be a decent gesture and give him further leverage in maintaining his toilet privileges. He wrapped the waxed paper tightly around it, put it into his pocket, and boarded the car.
There were very few open seats, all of them in the rear, where jellyheads generally liked to sit. It was a Saturday afternoon and free men and women were taking advantage of the pleasant weather while it lasted. Hundreds had been out walking in the Quarter and were now going home. Having no choice, Moldenke sat with the jellyheads. Next to him was an elderly female with a small, bulging suitcase leaking blood at the seams. “Hi, there,” the jellyhead said.
“Hello.”
“I apologize for the stink. There’s two heads in here, my husband’s and my lazy son’s. I’m taking them to Saposcat’s. We lived out by the Old Reactor.”
“Did you ever bathe in the pond?”
“When I was a kid, all the time. Then they wouldn’t let us anymore, after the liberation. That water was good for us.”
“I’m going to swim there tomorrow.” He turned his head so that she could see the other side. “For this ear. Maybe it’ll re-form.”
“Maybe it will, but I wouldn’t stay in that pond too long. What’s good for us might be bad for a regular like you.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
She hefted the dripping suitcase. “Excuse me, but next stop is Saposcat’s.”
“Mine too,” Moldenke said. He stood up to let the jelly-head pass, his ankle throbbing, his ear still sore and burning. The two got off together. Moldenke held her elbow as she went down the steps, helping to balance the heavy suitcase.
“Thank you so much,” she said.
The two parted pays on the sidewalk—the jellyhead to leave the heads at Saposcat’s, Moldenke to the Tunney for some rest.
When he got there, already tired with the day only half done, the concierge was bent over her commode cleaning the bowl with a long brush.
“I have a bear claw for you, from Big Ernie’s in the Quarter,” he told her.
“Oh, isn’t that sweet. Thank you.” She put away the brush and came to her little Dutch door, through which she could monitor any comings and goings in the foyer, the stairs, and the hallway. “I just love them.”
“I’m going there tomorrow. I’ll bring you another one. I have a date with Big Ernie’s daughter. We’re going out to soak in the Old Reactor pond. It might help this ear.”
“That’s nice. The water is wonderful and she’s a fine girl. I know her and Big Ernie. Would you like to use the toilet before you go up to your room?”
Moldenke’s bowel, while not angry, was anxious. Better now than later it was telling him.
“I suppose so, yes. Thanks.”
The concierge opened the bottom half of her Dutch door and let him into her small apartment. He turned toward the little room with the commode and she followed him there, stepping on his heels once or twice on the way. When he tried to close the door, she stopped him. “Leave it open. I want to watch.”
He’d been many times sitting hip to hip with strangers in public privies but never had anyone wanted to stand by and watch him empty his bowels. If that was the price he was going to have to pay now to have access to this sublime convenience, then he would pay it.
“Do you mind if I read a bit? It isn’t going to come easily.”
“That’s fine. I’m just watching. Do what you would do.”
Moldenke looked up at a boarded-over window above the bathtub. “Too bad about that,” he said. “We could be getting some air in here.”
“My husband did that when the liberation was happening. A lot of glass was getting broken.”
Moldenke picked up Burke’s
Treatise
. He began reading the book’s introductory note. The words and sentences had to be read over and over to get any sense of them. What little he could retain was quickly forgotten. He put the book back on the stool. The concierge stood there, arms folded, watching without expression.
“I don’t think I can go right now,” Moldenke said. “Maybe in the morning?”
The concierge was displeased but understanding. “Go to your room, then. I hope you have something to show me tomorrow.”
“I will, I will. First, I’m going to nap for a few hours, then I’ll go over to Saposcat’s and have some scrapple. That should generate anger down there overnight. Good afternoon.”
Moldenke succeeded in sleeping until dinner time and felt hungry and refreshed when he rolled out of his cot. Downstairs the concierge stood behind her Dutch door. “Good afternoon, Moldenke.”
“Hello. I’m off to Saposcat’s. I’m sure there’ll be something substantial for you in the morning.”
“I do hope so.” She closed the top of the door.
At Saposcat’s, Moldenke pored over the menu, searching for something that would churn his stomach and anger his bowel. It would be good to empty them anyway before bathing in the Old Reactor pool. That would be the last place he would want to suffer an attack.
When the waitress came, Moldenke ordered the scrapple.
“We’ve got some in the back,” she said, then bent over and whispered, “it’s a few days old, fair warning. We can scrape off the mold for you.”
“I’ll have that.”
“Okay. Something to drink? What about our special tea? We make it with part heavy water. It’s lighter than full heavy.”
“That’s good. Yes. The tea.”
Moldenke enjoyed eating his scrapple, despite the foul taste. It was immediately filling and gaseous and gave him confidence that he would have a movement for the concierge in the morning. The light-heavy tea, clear and salty, slid down his throat like thin syrup.
When he got back to the Tunney, after stopping to piss at the public privy, the concierge was not to be seen. He crept up the stairs to the third floor and down a hall to his room. On the way he passed ten or twelve other rooms. From some he heard sounds: a radio, sobbing, laughing, breaking glass, even the gleeful chirps of a young child. Sometimes at night, he’d heard a man coughing, another vomiting out of a window below. Yet, in the time he’d been here, he’d never seen anyone in the hallways, on the stairs, or in the foyer. There were twenty-four rooms on each of the three floors. If they were mostly occupied, as the concierge had said, where were the other tenants?
Lying in his cot, Moldenke rubbed his ear with the barrel honey the concierge had given him, then fell asleep anticipating his date with Sorrel and a long soak in heavy water.
When he put on his uniform the next morning, he saw that it was rumpled and rank. There was a fullness in his stomach and he was passing gas. A toileting stop downstairs to satisfy the concierge would be first, then a stop at the public bath to get the uniform washed and dried.
“Good morning,” he said when he saw the concierge standing at her door looking at him sternly. “Nice day ahead.”
“Hurry up. I’ve been waiting here.”
“All right, all right.”
Moldenke went to the toileting room with the concierge not three feet behind him, her head inclined toward the ceiling. “Mmmm. I smell it already.”
He sat down and picked up the
Treatise
. “It may take a minute, ma’am.” He flipped through the pages looking for something of interest. When he came to a chapter called “Of Beauty,” he read a few lines to himself, but loud enough for the concierge to hear. “There are some parts of the human body that have been observed to hold certain proportions to each other; but before it can be proved that the efficient cause of beauty lies in these, it must be shown, that wherever these are found exact; the person to whom they belong is beautiful…”
“I don’t have all day, Moldenke. There are other guests you know.”
“It’s odd that I never see them.”
“They’re probably all out when you’re in and they probably come in when you’re out. I guess that’s it.”
“I hear them at night.”
“They probably come home later than you do.”
Moldenke stopped reading, set the book back on the stool, and had a productive bowel movement.
The concierge said, “Let me see it.”
He lifted a buttock so that light could get to it. “There.”
“Now wipe and get out of here. I’ll flush it and clean the bowl.”
Moldenke wiped and pulled up his pants. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t forget, you replace the paper you use.”
“I’ll get some at the public.”
“I should make you put that in writing.” She fetched an envelope from her apron and gave it to him. “Here, a letter came for you.”
“Oh, good. News about my house.”
Dear Moldenke
,
I made a big effort to find that attorney of your aunt’s, but he’s dead and his office is closed. There’s a big black wreath on the door. They tell me he was exploded for embezzling from his elderly clients. Maybe your aunt’s money was stolen. I’m at a loss as to what to do. For now, I’m going to take in more jellyhead boarders with mechanical skills. One who knows about electricity, another that maybe can replace all the rotted floor boards. Even then, materials will have to be scrounged, manufactured, stolen, or borrowed
.
By my count, there are six bedrooms and three bathrooms. So we could house a couple more artisans if we had to, although only one of the commodes is working. We’d have quite a lineup in the morning with more boarders and after that a holy stink. You know how it is with jellies. I’m going to find that plumber and make him an offer. The cesspool in the yard looks like a little brown lake. It must be dealt with. We need a proper septic system
.
That’s the way it is for now
.
More news as it unfolds
.
Ozzie
On his way to the car stop, worried about his house on Esplanade, Moldenke stopped at the public bath. It was early enough that he had time to bathe while his uniform was boiled and dried and he would still be at Big Ernie’s by eight-thirty. The bath aide on duty met him at the door. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed today. A bunch of jellies snuck in and drowned themselves in the pools last night. We didn’t find them until this morning.”